Nearly 40 years ago, quasi-hippy filmmakers Wes Craven and Sean S. Cunningham were looking to make a name for themselves (and a little cash, if possible) in the thriving New York exploitation scene. Working with some intent distributors, they adapted Igmar Bergman's Virgin Spring for the drive-in, and a grindhouse classic -- Last House on the Left -- was born. With its memorable marketing campaign ("repeat to yourself... it's only a movie... it's only a movie) and direct, documentary style, it had impact and import during a crucial time in post-modern American cinema. As with several of Craven's past projects, Last House has now been remade for the post-millennial crowd, and that's too bad. This tedious, tepid update offers none of the original's brutality or energy.

It's time for summer vacation and the Collingwood family -- doctor dad (Tony Goldwyn), teacher mom (Monica Potter), and daughter Mari (Sara Paxton) -- are heading to their isolated lake house for a little R&R. Sadly, the teenage girl will soon run into escaped killer Krug (Garrett Dillahunt), his son Justin (Spencer Treat Clark), the equally unhinged Francis (Aaron Paul), and gonzo gal pal Sadie (Riki Lindhome). Along with her buddy Paige (Martha MacIsaac), Mari will be tortured, abused, and left for dead. When the criminals show up at the Collingwood home looking for lodging, it's not long before the parents find out what happened... and when they do, the tables are turned and no one is safe.

It wasn't necessarily obvious (or even possible to know) at the time of its 1997 release, but Jerry Bruckheimer's Con Air would represent his finest hour. Bruckheimer isn't the director, of course, but rather the rare movie producer who would claim possessive credit on almost any of his projects. Bruckheimer branches into cheesy thrillers, cheesy inspirational dramas, cheesy inspirational sports dramas, and cheesy television procedurals, but Con Air finds the super-producer munching on his bread and butter: a loaf of action movie, with melted cheese on top.

Not only that, but it's assembled using all of Bruckheimer's tried and tested techniques: Mix movie stars and indie heroes into an eclectic, slumming cast and have them act in a ludicrously high-concept scenario. (Here it is: The worst criminals in the country team up to hijack their prison transport plane! And it's up to one man to stop them!) Then spend lots of money but indulge in a cynical jokiness, and hire a director who will shoot the whole thing like it's a music video or a commercial (preferably for itself).

Novelist Michael Jaffe wrote a big weepy article about how his book (Dance Real Slow) was languishing and how it would never make it to the big screen. Well, one look at this piece of crap passed off as a movie and it's obvious why: It sucks! Amazing that with a talented cast, the movie (plot: Single father.) just sits there like a stuffed monkey.

Stirring biopic about American runner Steve Prefontaine -- a precursor to today's most arrogant athletes. Replete with slow-motion running, sweat-dripping faces, and gut-wrentching drama, this is a must-see for any track & field fan.

Monica Potter gets dumped, then ends up on countless blind dates in the aftermath, which gives us the relationships all sliced up and out of order. Which guy will she end up with? The freaky baseball player or the kooky entemologist? Or someone else? Doubtless you'll care as little as I did, since Potter's character is too vapid to be worth keeping in the first place.

Nearly overwhelming in its cuteness, The Very Thought of You tells the wholly unlikely story of an American (Potter) on the run from her unbearably dull life. When she flies to London on a lark, she encounters three British guys in the space of 48 hours, all of whom fall in love with her immediately. The catch? The three are all best friends.

Joseph Fiennes is the lovable one of the bunch, and naturally he and Potter are destined for one another. But Fiennes' friendship with his two pals (Sewell and Hollander) keeps him a dark horse in the game. Will he go for the girl or not? And what will she do when she finds out they're all pals?

With Freddie Prinze Jr., a perky Julia Roberts-wannabe girl next door, four models, and a comic-relief dog, Head Over Heels has something for everyone. That is if "everyone" is under the age of 18. The rest of us will likely wonder what happened to the need for a decent story or a well-written script, but then again, this movie is not made for the rest of us.

In line with the recent and unbelievably profitable string of lame teen films like Save the Last Dance and Dude, Where's My Car?, Head Over Heels is a train wreck of bad lines and predictable plot twists. Fortunately, all the passengers involved are pretty damn attractive, plus it's occasionally funny (even if the laughs come mostly during the movie's most dramatic, heartfelt moments).

Ironically, what I was most excited about seeing in Patch Adams is what eventually left me feeling cheated by it in the end. After seeing the trailers, I knew I was going to get Robin Williams playing that lovably sensitive, extremely funny man, that shows people there's more to life. You know, the guy from Dead Poets Soceity and Good Will Hunting. I love that guy; probably because he had truly inspired me before. And things were going so well for the first two-thirds of this movie too. Until it was over and I thought to myself, "Wait, I think I've seen this movie before."

In the end, my impression of Patch Adamsis that is has some really funny scenes, and you can't help but fall in love with the guy when he's doing all of these great things, a lot of which you have probbly seen in the trailers. And he has a lot to teach everyone he comes into contact with in the film. So throughout I'm thinking, "What a great guy; I wish I was more like him." Which is always a good set-up. But it never follows through. The dramatic conclusion falls flat, and based on a true story or not, the plot points are a bit cliched. Patch Adamsis a comedy, but more appropriately it would be classified as an inspirational film. And the hallmark of the inspirational film is that climactic scene at the end where the inspirational character takes a stand and is met by stiff consequences, but ultimately we realize that he made a difference. You see it in Dead Poets Soceity in the "Oh Captain, my captain" scene. In Patch Adamsthough, it never comes. Though Patch does take an emotional stand at the end in a scene that tries to steal the emotion of a film like Dead Poets Soceity, I don't know that we're convinced that he truly made a difference. He is a great guy, yes, but maybe not great enough.

It's appalling to see good actors (John Malkovich, John Cusack) make utter fools of themselves. This is undoubtedly the worst film of both their careers. Nic Cage may not be at bottom here, but his performance is embarassing to the point of making you want to vomit. Steve Buscemi's smiling serial killer redeems the film somewhat, but how much fun can you have in a film that's about convicts skyjacking a plane and landing it a few times here and there as they try to escape the law. First in a line of junk movies from director Simon West.

When you think "movie franchise," you think Harrison Ford or maybe Eddie Murphy... but Morgan Freeman? Yet, with the middling $60 million take of 1997's Kiss the Girls, the low-key, dependable actor returns as Dr. Alex Cross, in another try at a psycho thriller. Sadly, Freeman's the only point of interest in this one. Kiss the Girls was average at best -- Along Came A Spider should aspire to such heights.

Both films are based on James Patterson novels, where the good Doctor (detective, psychologist, author, hostage negotiator, model boat builder... good Lord) chases down some scary guy who's either a kidnapper, a murderer, or both. Here, our culprit is a teacher (Michael Wincott) at a D.C. prep school for kids that require Secret Service detail. He conducts his entire teaching career incognito, and then snatches the young daughter of a generic U.S. Congressman (Michael Moriarty).